Perceptions (2 of 4)

How does one de-personalize history? How does one not take personal the history of “one’s people” and all the crimes perpetrated against them?

How is it ‘up north’? You came by a plane flown by black pilots? (black people can pilot planes?) You didn’t just jump the border? But you don’t look like you’re from 'up north'… I respond… but all the while my heart bleeds at my braa and sisi’s ignorance… the conventional wisdom fed the masses during apartheid: even with the oppression, they’re better off than we who are ‘up north’. It seems true enough now because there are plenty of refugees in South Africa… surely an indication that things ‘up north’ are really awful.

Still in iKapa, I head over to Robben Island, home of Mandela for 21 years… and yes, many other political prisoners came through here. Very interesting juxtaposition of the ritzy Victoria and Alfred waterfront (departure point) and the (destination) island that is a “prison known all over the world for its harsh conditions” 12 km from shore. Apparently only one prisoner – a san chief? – ever tries to swim for it… and dies before reaching shore. My companion laughs and remarks: “black people can’t swim”. Today this stretch forms part of the whole adventure/ultra sport circuit... you know... those macho, endorphin/adrenaline-pumped addicts athletes who think the iron man is for babies. The water is freezing cold… Antarctica is, after all, the next stop south of here. There’s a constant cool breeze cold wind called the ‘cape doctor’ ‘cause it sweeps the coast clean of what ails it (pollution). We go on a bus drive around the island… to put everything into perspective before we arrive at the actual prison building. We’re taken to the place where prisoners did their hard labor… a quarry… they were required to dig up one spot, cover it up the following day, dig it up the day after that, cover again… apparently this breaks one’s spirit ‘cause you’re spending your time, energy, life… and have nothing to show for all your efforts. We are told that as a result of this practice, Mandela’s eyes are ruined… by the dust or is it by the glare? And it’s one of the reasons (as well as age) that flash photography is disallowed during his functions. We are told of a man (and it’s terrible that I forget his name, ‘cause he is an important struggle icon… that’s the problem of being too Nellie-focused) who is in solitary confinement because it is too dangerous to let him speak with other inmates… something about his words being too potent. Other inmates pass by the little house he is confined to, and if he is out walking in the yard, he takes a fist full of soil, and slowly let the soil fall through his fingers… a sign that the struggle continued.

The prison is very sanitized… makes you wonder what the big deal is… yes the cells are small, but look, they're clean, and prisoners had an area to walk out into and stretch their legs. Prison tours are run by former inmates… I ask our guide what he was in for… he abashedly indicates... theft… but hey, he does catch the tail end of the freedom fighters, and can tell us about how they are educated (even with the jailers’ best efforts to keep them ignorant)… Nellie invites his jailer to attend his presidential inauguration… as a VIP. Some say it just shows you how next-to-Jesus he is… I say it’s a wonderful way to kill two birds with one stone: show your magnanimity to the (incredulous) world, and give the jailer (and his kind) a bloodied nose by making sure he understands, up close and personal, that you are now, and always have been, greater than he… but then again… I am by no stretch of the imagination, next-to-Jesus, so of course I’d think such base thoughts. The jailer later writes a book titled ‘Goodbye Bafana’ . [I watch an AFCON game where Bafana Bafana, the SA national football team (translates to ‘the boys, the boys’ - the women’s national football team, not to be left behind, is called ‘Banyana, Banyana,’ the girls, the girls), is beaten by another African team… someone suggests to his South African counterpart… you need to change the name of your national team… you can’t send boys to do a man’s job… you’re sending Boys up against Indomitable Lions and Super Eagles! What is in a name indeed].

The Rhodes memorial is interesting enough… perched a distance up Table mountain (right next to UCT), horse galloping up towards Africa… it’s in the news because it’s been vandalized … probably just kids doing their ‘urban art’ thing and not someone pissed at what it stands for … I learn that this very hard working man (imperial conquest from cape to cairo is hard work people!) is buried in Bulawayo… must find time to go see what that looks like.
Trips to the breakwater lodge and District 6 Museum prove to be the last straws… kill my appetite for historic context. I decide I cannot cope with “knowing and thinking too much” … time to live in the unconscious present!

****

After a lengthy moratorium on history lessons, I imagine it’s safe to ‘do Soweto’.
I will later visit another Soweto attraction, Wandie’s restaurant. Large tour buses outside, Wandie makes a pretty penny ‘cause his place is a must-do on the touristy Soweto beat. He started out as an illegal shebeen (an irish word that you would swear is local), he tells us (as he mingles with his guests), and took advantage of the advent of democracy, and the growing interest in Soweto to expand his business. He’s bought out the neighboring plot and is expanding his business … There’s high demand for his product and other places have opened up to absorb the overflow from this demand… none have his popularity (yet) though. Long tables, all sorts of business cards on walls and ceilings (you're encouraged to find a spot to stick yours), photos of Wandie and famous world personalities on the walls. It’s a buffet style setup, and I serve up as much delicious ‘traditional’ fare as I can. A dish is low on matumbo, so I ask for it by name… not knowing what else to call it… and am pleasantly surprised to discover that matumbo is its name here as well. That food is mmm mmmm good to the last morsel.

But first off, am disappointed to learn that it’s actually an acronym that stands for SOuth WEst TOwnship, its direction from central Johannesburg… Yes, guilty as charged… I wasn’t paying attention the day we did south African history in school. I start at Vilakazi street, only street in the world where two nobel peace prize winners once lived… Mandela’s old diggs (I think he spent just one night here after his release from prison), Winnie’s diggs until after 1994, and Archbishop Tutu’s house just round the corner (not open to the public). The Mandela house is made of simple red brick: living room, dining room, bedroom, kitchen. I get there and find a Kenyan tour guide… Talk about enterprising Kenyans! Even so… this is wrong bwana, let a South African give the tour at such an important historic place. These sentiments are expressed to him, and he explains he’s married to one of Winnie’s nieces(?) and is therefore South African by proxy? He lived in the US for a long time, then moved to SA with his family. He charges no entry fees, takes you on a 20-30 minute tour of this very small space (depends on size, curiosity and knowledge of the group), explains the context in which most of the pictures displayed were taken, relates the South African struggle to your country (was your government pro or anti…) [In case you’re interested: Kenya’s role here is bittersweet: our government was pro-apartheid… just not in as overt a manner as, say… Malawi. Yes our passports were stamped ‘valid for travel anywhere but to South Africa’ but that was just politics, we supported apartheid in subtle ways. On the other hand, our struggle for freedom, “was an important example of resistance to colonial rule, which gave South Africans hope in their own struggles”, ultimately leading to the political impasse then to the negotiated settlement… Kenya also made another significant contribution to SA’s history… one I’ll relate shortly).

There are pictures of Mandela’s 1st wife and her sons… one of whom was killed allegedly by the apartheid government in a bid to break Mandela’s will while he was in prison (the other was recently felled by aids). We’re told she left Nellie ‘cause of his politics and his wandering eye (not necessarily in that order). There are pictures of a smiling, defiant, beautiful, fiery Winnie in her combat fatigues, afro, and her right fist in the air… you can hear her “amandla!” rent the air, and the “awethu!” from the energized crowd. Here we see pictures of MK (Umkonto we Sizwe, the armed wing of the ANC) soldiers, essentially a line up of the future cabinet. I catch a glimpse of Chris Hani, a man I feel should have been president, but who would not live to vote in the first democratic elections. The finance minister is pointed out to me and I can’t believe he once had a head that full of hair! There’s also a picture of Peter Mokaba, he of “Kill the Boer, kill the farmer” infamy, said to also have been felled by aids.

There’s a picture of a woman who slightly resembles Winnie, but she is rail thin, sunken eyes, broken spirit… nothing like the proud and fierce woman we know… A distant relative? Turns out it is Winnie… there was a time when wives of the freedom fighters were put into solitary confinement, a bid to break their spirits and those of their husbands… they emerged looking broken, haggard, rail thin. Put together, if you will, apartheid brutality and these women… let your mind run riot, then tell me you wouldn’t forgive anything these women, this particular woman, did thereafter. She herself has said “The years of imprisonment hardened me … Perhaps if you have been given a moment to hold back and wait for the next blow, your emotions wouldn't be blunted, as they have been in my case. When it happens every day of your life, when that pain becomes a way of life, I no longer have the emotion of fear … there is no longer anything I can fear. There is nothing the government has not done to me. There isn't any pain I haven't known.” She was ‘banished’ to middle-of-no where Free State as a result of her continued political activities. We are shown bullet holes from when the house and Winnie and her girls were shot at.

This woman holds a very special place in my heart… I would never have known there existed a Mandela were it not for her, with her sauce and courage, beauty and defiance… always on the TV making bold (and very controversial) statements: “we will win!”, “with our boxes of matches and our necklaces, we shall set this country free,” and her right fist always held up in salute of the comrades, fellow fighters. During her divorce case in 1996, my father and I didn’t talk for a week because he said she was a woman of dubious morals for continuing to see her ‘boyfriend’, even after her husband was freed from prison… oh the trials of an African woman… having to be all things to all people… and receiving no kudos from any of them.

Winnie’s own house (said to have been built for her by a benefactor from the US) is not too far from Vilakazi street… when I visit Soweto, I make a point of driving by there, waving at the cctv cameras perched atop a high perimeter wall, and mouthing “we love you Winnie!” done in the hope that I’ll run into her, she’ll shake my hand, and I’ll never wash it again!
You can imagine the level of conflict in my mind when Mbeki (T-boz) rebuffs Winnie in 2001. Both people I admire, but situations like those insist you pick a favorite. .. said to be yet another manifestation of the continuing power struggle between those who fought from exile and those who fought from within.

At the end of the tour, having answered your questions to your satisfaction… the Kenyan tour guide makes the simple request that you donate whatever amount you desire to the tour guides. A very smart practice. Perfected by taxi drivers I’ve encountered in TZ and Zambia… they tell you to pay what you think their service is worth… you struggle with your conscience because you don’t want to appear mean – especially after they’ve looked after you so well – so you give a decent amount… usually. Right outside the compound there are curio sellers selling anything but Mandela/struggle-themed items… masks, necklaces, etc.
A short while after, Kenyan tour guide gets ousted from that position. After all, how can a foreigner tell tourists about Mandela? Are there no South Africans who can do this job?

I go back post-him, pay a R20 entry fee, get a 5 minute tour (this is the bedroom, these are some pictures taken during the struggle, these are the honorary doctorates sent to Mandela after his release from jail, etc.), and end up relating what I can remember of his tour, to those with me. The tour guide listens in, curious… how come I know all this? Inside the house compound in the small room where you pay your entry fee… they sell t-shirts and caps printed with Mandela’s visage. Yes, it’s great to indigenize a business, just make sure you get the full measure of knowledge before you kick out the consummate professional.

Not far from these two houses, just up the road, is the spot where Hector Pieterson fell and further up, a memorial and museum in his honor… in honor of the June 16 student uprising. The Museum building looks a tad strange to me…too open… the curator says it’s a new building, in line with contemporary museum architecture… something about fires in museums? A trip through it doesn’t leave me in tears, just pensive about what I’ve learnt… I gain the distinct impression that if it were not for June 16, 1976, the day those school children decided they were fed up and did something about it! SA would still be under apartheid… with the older generation urging us to take the high road… as if the high road ever won a fight of this kind [I have heard that even Gandhi’s high road of passive resistance involved the British officials finding feces on their desks or paths every morning… thus their morale was worn]. God bless those June 16 children.

The museum display is a whole lot of TV monitors with loops of stories around that particular day, the build up to the day, etc. What stands out are a couple of loops: one taken at a ‘whites only’ beach (camps bay?) with a bikini’d white woman who says into the camera: “oh no, we don’t want to become like the rest of Africa, look at how they’ve failed to govern themselves, look at …” and she reels off a list African countries that were thriving under colonial rule but are now ‘failed states’ and impoverished due to black rule… another monitor shows a PSA (public service announcement) detailing what the national government is doing to ensure that your kid’s future is catered for… we see white kids riding bicycles in suburbs which have no walls or fences, white kids in school, and it tells you of the jobs available for them in offices, factories, and shows you the recreational opportunities… rugby, swimming pools, parks with white families braaing and enjoying themselves…

Another video shows a tween girl standing up in class explaining why she’s superior to a black person… black people can only look after the house and the garden, she says… and me, looking on incredulously… surely this never happened… children did not say such things… Someone suggested that research ought to be carried out on the effects of such rhetoric (that they’re superior and everyone else inferior) on young white people… wonder if it’s seen the light of day… These are the impressions I’m left with after visiting that museum… this, and that haunting picture of Hector being carried in the arms of that young man, his sister running alongside... their screams that can still be heard all these years later.

Closer to Johannesburg’s CBD is the apartheid museum, a social responsibility project of the consortium that owns the adjacent Gold Reef City Casino. When you pay for entry, you’re given a plastic card which indicates “white” or “non-white”, and are obliged to use one of the corresponding “separate but equal” entrances. As you walk through these entrances, you learn about the official date of the de jure enactment of racial segregation, of the laughable criteria used to determine racial categories. Randall Robinson once said that when he first landed in SA he felt right at home… because Jim Crowism was in full effect here… complete with the pencil test.

Video of the history: the San, the Bantu, Jan Van Riebeck, the British, the British vs. amaZulu, the siege of several African tribes by the occupying forces, the decisions by chiefs of these tribes to surrender instead of fighting to the last man. Why did they surrender? I’ve always asked… why would you concede to being treated like sub-humans? Wouldn’t you rather die than put up with such treatment? But if they had all chosen the path of death instead of acquiescence, who would be getting BEE’d today? Wouldn’t this be another USA? Natives in reserves without a prayer of ever coming to power, non-natives owning all? (This doesn't apply if you subscribe to the "Bantu as invaders of the San" school of thought). Now I see the (sometimes) wisdom of the rhetoric of wiser, cooler minds… bide your time… and keep believing that someday you’ll be free. So to the chiefs who chose to give in: I ain’t mad at you no more… I finally see your point. I learn that contrary to my perception, it isn’t originally about race, it is about mining, labor, profit-making… when Johannesburg booms as a mining town, white labor gets too expensive for the capitalists to quickly become fabulously wealth, so they engaged cheaper black labor. The white laborers are understandably upset, and the protest moves to the (easy, obvious) racial level with everyone conveniently forgetting that it is about economics and the exploitation that is capitalism to begin with.

Lasting impressions are made by pictures of mineworkers, skinny, naked, going through a full body cavity search to make sure they don’t smuggle the diamonds/gold out the mine. In Orapa, Botswana, I ask a man who works at the diamond mine there whether the men are still searched that way… he says they have x-ray machines, but given the deleterious effects of consistent exposure to x-rays over time, the miners are fine with the full body cavity search. Think about that the next time you’re blinging that diamond that’s forever.

The display that strikes fear deep into my heart is… no, not the ropes hanging from the ceiling… the riot police vehicle. I don’t know why. On the days I see and feel its menacing presence on the streets, I take off in the opposite direction… Here, I gingerly peep into the back, to see what it looks like on the inside. Monitors showing video loops galore in this museum as well… you see people being tossed over razor wire (encountered a debate over who invented razor wire: SA or Germany? Someone actually wants to take credit for this?), the masses toyitoying, facing police with teargas and antiriot gear, images of impimpis flushed out and necklaced… tumultuous times.

Then on to the negotiations, which is where the sweet Kenyan contribution comes in. After a lot of back and forth, meetings that fail to come to a resolution, Buthelezi wanting to postpone the elections, Mandela stating categorically that “April 27, 1994 is sacrosanct” and the elections will go ahead on that date, Buthelezi saying that the Zulus will not take part in the vote… the violence that erupts [During this spate of violence, a colleague says she encounters many toyitoyis… and becomes a darned good sprinter (assuming she wasn't one before this)… there are heaps of tomatoes at street corners… if you smear your eyes and face with fresh tomato teargas won't sting as much, so she says… Am sure we’ve since moved on to tear gas with much more harmful chemical effects].

After internationals Kissinger & Co fail to broker an agreement, just days before April 27, in walks Professor Washington Okumu and like a good Kenyan, he does the impossible... gets them to agree… and in so doing, averts civil war. Over a decade later he tries to work the same miracle for the Narc marriage, but finds true the adage that a prophet is not appreciated in his own home.

I learn of the difference between the end of apartheid and the end of the Nazi regime. The latter came to an end abruptly… so there was not time to get rid of the documentary evidence of whodunwhat… The former, however, had all the time in the world to get rid of documentary evidence. Truckloads of documents destroyed, records washed 'white as snow'… monsters exonerated of wrong-doing with one strike of the match... you may know someone was a spy, but without documentary evidence, uta do?

How does one de-personalize history? How does one not take personal the history of “one’s people” and all the crimes perpetrated against them?

Perceptions (1 of 4)

First time here. Flying in from a truly exotic location whose airport was about as sophisticated as Zambia’s Lusaka International Airport… as I’m going through immigration, a fellow traveler indicates that this (then Johannesburg International, now Oliver Tambo International) used to be a really lousy airport but they’ve been doing a good job of upgrading it. Find domestic departures and am on to Cape Town. Breathtaking scenery, really chilled vibe… staying on the white side of town (oops, I later learn that everything around the CBD is white… the non-whites were chased 25kms away for the blacks, and a bit closer for the coloreds). Have a discussion with a South African who is later to become a good friend about why she labels herself ‘colored’… why not call yourself ‘caublanasian’ like Tiger does? You know, acknowledge all the bits of dna in you. She unleashes the list of dna in her … and we agree that she may have a point there with that ‘colored’ label.

Die Kaap feels very… European… and like any unconscious person privileged to spend a holiday there, I focus on the touristy aspects… cable car, Long Street, clubbing, wine route, nice restaurants, Camps Bay (home of the rich and famous), (The Republic of)Hout Bay, Cape Point. In the CBD shopping one afternoon and I notice all the hawkers start to pack up at 4.30PM… by 5.00PM not a trace of anyone left. What? Have they made so much money they can close shop this early? I ask… (as I remember coast and how it seems that people there open shops as a hobby ‘cause they close at the same time that workers are leaving offices).. nope, they have to catch public transport home… 25 kms away… and it’s best not to get home after dark ‘cause some of those places are really dangerous. There are places ruled by gangs modeled after the crips and the bloods… and just as bad. While I’m here the big story is (the late) Hansie Cronje, the guy who took money to throw cricket games… everyone’s talking about it in very shocked tones… he says the devil made him do it and as a result, to my untrained eye, it appears that he's not receiving too much condemnation… I’m told it’s because he’s a boere… look at pictures of him and can’t for the life of me differentiate between him and a colored person. A mwenyeji, Indian fellow, introduces me to noseweek… where to go to read about who has stolen what money… He’s a trader, has always been, sells touristy stuff at Camps Bay. He opens up for a minute, sharing how they weren’t allowed to even sniff the air at Camps Bay before democracy… now he spends most days there.

I go back to Nairobi, really jazzed about my trip to SA, all the infrastructure and the availability of most things I could ever want… and the roads! My goodness those are superb roads! And the lights! There was electricity on for miles and miles. And the restaurants, the apartments, the supermarkets… first class, in fact they are “upmarket, world class” two words I later discover are what every building, business, and town in SA aspires to have associated with it.

I’m having customary lunch with 'uncle' jay, in Nairobi, updating him on where I am in my life, an opportunity for him to raise any concerns my old man has but does not want to discuss with me directly [I like my 'uncle' jay… in fact, whenever I want to disgust my sister, I tell her that I think he is the hottest over 55-year old man I know, and that if he wasn’t 'uncle' jay I’d … well, I kinda get the Lara Flynn Boyles and Calista Flockharts of this world with that whole attraction to older guys… something about those silver temples]. He says he took his daughter to Cape Town around the time democracy was docking, and she kept asking him if he was serious they were still in Africa... where were all the Africans? Not much has changed… 7 years on.

As often happens with life (the unexpected turn) I end up returning to live here for 5 years. I’m in luck the first few months ‘cause I make friends with some South Africans and get a politics and history 101 course from them. The first few months anywhere are always the best for political orientation, at least for me, ‘cause i'm like a sponge, absorbing every nuance of the socio-political situation and getting as much data as possible before I decide whether I'm pro- or anti- the establishment. With time I become apathetic… couldn’t care less who is right or wrong… just keep playing that funky economic music T-boz, and let me get mine. But before this state of mind is reached, my appetite for historic background of this country is insatiable, and I attend debates, exhibitions, read the news and then look up the backgrounds of the people, places and events mentioned.

I notice the black people here are generally… not as skilled or as aggressive as say.. Kenyans are… I understand that it’s as a result of Bantu education, and all the atrocities committed during the colonial period (and a recent thought has been that this was the way they resisted the occupation… by doing the barest minimum, and playing dumb), but I curl my lip and ask “kwani what were they doing when us guys were getting independence? Why were they asleep?” I also note that it’s actually equal opportunity lack of skill, across the board and color line, and find out that a lot of whites are in positions simply because of their lack of melanin. With time I get to understand what bound South Africans in chains for a longer time than we… what bound southern Africa for a longer time… that “their wazungus” had come to stay… that “their wazungus” had nowhere else to go, and were therefore ready to fight to the last person in order to stay put. When we got independence, “our wazungus” had options.. they were invited to stay, they could also have run south, to Rhodesia and South Africa, or return to the bosom of mother England. I’ve met several people over-40 who tell me “yes, we used to have a farm in Keenya… I have such great memories of growing up in Keenya”. That’s why it took Zimbabwe a little (lot) longer to see the light of day, and that’s why SA ended up as a negotiated democracy. The lack of a place to return to, that offered as trouble-free a life as that in Africa.

And I discover that the issues here are the same as anywhere else in Africa: land. We want our land back… they don’t want to “give” it back ‘cause they paid for it… and besides… it is argued… the Bantu people were actually aggressors who moved east and south from central Africa, so it wasn’t really your land to begin with. Anyway, if you get it back you’ll still starve, “see case of Zimbabwe”, we are told… it was the former bread basket of Africa, and since “you” took over, it’s nothing less than a train smash. About Zim, I’ll just briefly state two things: they finally see how artificial their economy was (I’m still flummoxed that after 20 years of independence they were having discussions over whether or not ‘blacks’ were competent enough to play on the national cricket team), and “you weren’t really a bread basket if you could come down this far, this fast!” I constantly refer people to the Kenyan case of being brought to our economic knees, and we continue to walk along on those knees… what’s so darned special about Zim… spoilt brats.. suck it up and be men! and women! A friend from there (who I tell exactly what I’ve said here) indicated that some communities have started making their own soap instead of coughing up money to pay for soap imported from SA. Meanwhile, the SA economy is booming because cross-border traders are importing even the most basic of things. And so the discussion/argument continues.

I take a trip to the winelands… oohing and aahing at the vineyards, and the delightful lunch and wine tasting we partake in… I don’t think to ask about the labor, who tends to the vineyard and picks the grapes… until much later when back on Long street and am face to face with a “street urchin”… actually, several of them… begging nicely for money or something to eat. My companion says “they’re still nice here… give it a few years and they’ll get as bad as Nairobi’s parking boys”. I look at them and there’s something terribly wrong… something that has nothing to do with poverty… something about their features. I learn later on, to my great shock and horror, that these are fetal alcohol syndrome babies… and there are lots more where those came from… the vineyards. Yes, those same very bourgie vineyards/plantations… with massa’s house clearly visible and done up beautifully in Dutch architecture, and the worker/slave quarters hidden from the tourist’s view. At some point (in the past?), the workers on these vineyards would be paid part of their wage in cheap wine. That’s right people… how else do you make sure you have an easy, amenable supply of labor?

District 6… once a thriving testament to what South Africa could have been… a multicultural neighborhood where members of the rainbow lived next door to one another, their children played together, men and women talked and socialized together… razed to the ground, everyone sent off to live in the neighborhood designated for their race. Soweto… another district 6, Africans from all parts of the country, from different ethnics groups living in harmony, learning each other’s language and culture… divided along ethnic lines… there was the zulu section, the sotho, etc. And years later, the inkatha party members would attack the Xhosas and others… all part of the divide and rule strategy of those wily apartheid bastards. When I think of the IFP I remember an older lady from Soweto, God fearing, peace-loving, meek and mild as could be… until I brought up the name Mangosuthu Buthelezi… I have yet to see such rage in an older person’s face… it contorted with hate and she spit out how she hated that man, hated him! One of her neighbors had 3 sons killed during the time of that violence… they were cornered in the house and slain there… with the lovely traditional weapons, of course.

Again, I say, “phew, I’m glad we never got to a stage where we had ‘townships’ and were divided by tribes in the neighborhoods”, again my ignorance is corrected… but we were at this point… why do you think people above a certain age refer to ‘shags’ as ‘reserve’? we had passbooks, you had to have permission to be in Nairobi. And in that very Nairobi, different tribes lived in different areas of the city, and there is still strong evidence of this past division today.

Returning to the apartheid bastards… I always thought that in order to put in place a system as ignoble as apartheid you had to be some ignorant red neck… not so… the guy credited with being the architect (though Afrikaners say in their defence that it had been de facto for many years before 1945 when it became de jure) was good looking blonde blue eyed phd in psychology, Dr. Hendrik Verwoerd. Yep, he had the wherewithal to really fuck folk up in the mind, and he did not disappoint.

And speaking of top-notch grey matter in the service of apartheid. Not long after I get here, I read about “dr. death’s” trial. Dr. Wouter Basson, a great(?) scientific and military mind paid to come up with the most expedient ways to get rid of the ‘bleksies’. He certainly gives it the old college try… and the bone chiller emerges during the trial… he had help from other governments … there are people out there working on chemical weapons that will selectively kill black people… can you imagine what aids would be doing right now (as bad as it is), if ‘democracy’ had not come-a-knocking? Related to this… a friend whose step father is a doctor in the ‘reserve’ performed a sterilization operation on a black woman who had requested it…. He got a check in the mail, from the government… apparently there was a reward for curbing the fertility of black women.

Back to the trial of Wouter Basson. He is credited with being behind the infamous anthrax-sprinkled free tshirts sent to townships among many other terrible things I have since blanked out of my memory. That’s one reason I avoid things marketed specifically to a black audience in this country… can’t quite shake off that paranoia.
[an aside: I found a Nigerian acquaintance drinking a beer that’s targeted at black men… it’s tagline: “the game’s not over until you sink the black” – feel free to go to town on the implications there, and refer to discussion between Eddie Murphy and Martin Lawrence in a movie I now forget. Anyway, after sharing my conspiracy theory… it causes impotence – he says to me “you mean it does that? That’s great ‘cause this is just what I need to normalize my appetite!” laughs all around… gotta love those Nigerians].
On the day he is set free (because he committed those crimes away from the borders of South Africa… in south west Africa as it was known at the time – Namibia, and in Mozambique), I am totally outraged. And I think others will be too. I read of no toyitoying taking place infront of the court, and the people I meet are just going about their business. I finally ask a colleague what he thinks of the outcome, and he says “well, the courts have ruled what they thought was best”. Wow! A country where the rule of law is not questioned. I think it’s a wonderful coping mechanism… you put your faith and trust in the law, and even if it lets you down, you just swallow and move on… but your pain emerges as infants and toddlers being raped, jilted lovers shooting the jilter in the head, fatal road rage incidents, girls having to go to the bathroom as a posse during parties – soloing means you are asking for it… rape…, criminals doing terrible things to their victims… it’s not just about robbing you of material things, it’s about robbing you of yourself, of your dignity… I remember a news article I read back in 1994 which said that SA’s freedom was won because the youth had become ungovernable, and the writer was asking how Mandela would manage this ungovernable faction…

And would a story like this be complete if it didn’t include the cacophony of black voices that say “things were better during apartheid”? Oh yes they exist… I encounter several of them… talking about how much better organized the transport and roads were during apartheid. I say “that’s ‘cause your behind was living in primitive conditions back in the townships or homelands, stupid!” just not so… vehemently. I try to explain that it seemed better because the infrastructure only had to cater to the white population and not to everyone as it does now… so of course it’s overloaded. They’re still not convinced. They, like so many of us today, choose to believe there’s a congenital defect in African dna that means we simply cannot succeed. But that’s an issue for another day.
My pointless? I’m getting to it…

On dead dolphins and (dead) science

This piece and a whole lot of drama surrounding it, marked my entry into the blogosphere waaay back in May.



Know what? I didn't think I was a bunny hugger until I got terribly saddened at reading of the demise of HUNDREDS of dolphins in Zanzibar at the end of April this year.

Truly the end is nigh.

Couldn't hold back a shout of laughter, though, when I read that "those who had eaten the dead dolphin meat were doing fine the following day". Guess that is when the hard working fisheries officials concluded the dolphins were not poisoned, they were simply... lost. Well, glad to see we humans aren't the only ones who are lost and on the path to self-destruction.

So now, because we ate the money for the forensic labs, the Swedes (ok ok it's us that I'm really mad at) took samples back to their labs in Sweden to test them there. What capacity will that build in Africa I wonder. And I don't see these mass die-offs stopping, meaning that every time there's one, the Swedes will pick up the tab on the lab work, while we get a few starving fishers to eat the meat so we can determine whether or not the level of poison in the dolphins was high enough to affect a skinny chap after one meal.

Of course it was sonar that killed them!! We just need to fine the culprits... but will they own up to it? "The most conclusive link between the use of military sonar and injury to marine mammals was observed from the stranding of whales in 2000 in the Bahamas. The U.S. Navy later acknowledged that sonar likely contributed to the stranding of the extremely shy species."

THREE HUNDRED (and by other accounts, up to 600) DOLPHINS... how long will it take to bring back those numbers? Probably never. You know... that vanishing biodiversity story finally sinks into my head, how can it not when this example is so graphic? This means the dugong (mermaids) were probably also buggered and just sank to the ocean floor leaving the intelligent dolphins to swim ashore and inform us of the genocide.

And are we serious when we claim to have marine research institutes which can't figure out what happened? (other than... whatever it was wasn't ingested 'cause the dissected dolphin tummies were empty). They don't have up-to-the-minute satellite info so they can't trace toxic algal blooms/pollution spills or hotspots, they're not listening underwater....

And what of disaster preparedness? Isn't this a natural disaster? Where are the rescue crews? No, not to rescue the dolphins (i'm not thaaaat much of a hugger) but to assist the villagers and fishermen in burying the carcasses (and giving people like me the chance to own a complete and intact bottlenose dolphin skeleton - any entrepreneurs out there? lots of money to be made from this (and future disasters)... just wait for the final tox results though - and cut me in on ...10% of net). Oh, and let's not forget that ever present fear that "it will affect tourism levels". I know it would affect my consumption of seafood for a while. What a hoax! And the tragedy is that on any given day, we can decide to turn it all (this mess) around, and we CAN succeed.

Another priceless quote: "Residents had cut open the animals' bellies to take their livers, which they use to make waterproofing material for boats." Glad to see there were positive outcomes. Lakini, knowing that there was inevitably someone was no, not loitering but... enjoying some leisure time at the beach, why didn't they help the animals? Not that it would have mattered anyway, once they beach themselves they're usually not interested in returning to deeper water.... besides, who would have come to help? Seriously though, we have to cease and desist being such hoaxes and allowing nothing (but corruption) to work in our countries!

Oh, but how can I stay upset for long when I find gems like this statement from Daily News in TZ: "In unprecedented move, about 300 dolphins were yesterday found dead in the Zanzibar waters of the Indian Ocean." Then there's the titillating promise in an article headed: "Cause of dolphins deaths to be made public today," in which a marine expert indicates: “We are at a crucial stage of our investigations. We shall make public the report any time tomorrow,’’ He also informs us the number of dead dolphins has been revised upward to over 600, and that divers who had been used in finding the dead marine wildlife 'called off the exercise yesterday, and finally lays bare the fact that we simply play at science and research by confirming that, "The government [is waiting] for the results of the samples that were sent to Sweden to determine how they died". Just two questions: does someone sit there and randomly pick stock phrases to insert into news stories? (yes dolphin brains are about as heavy as human brains, but still... 'an exercise to find dead marine wildlife'??) And this "unprecedented move", was it by the dolphins or by those who found them?

Another one: "Local residents say the north of the island has had strong winds and heavy rains, as well as big tidal water movement due to the new moon." ... last I checked, there was a tsunami a couple of years ago that was bigger than puny storm winds and spring tides, and we didn't see this sort of thing.

Checked out a couple of pictures, one of a marine biologist dissecting a carcass (no protective clothing in sight), and another of someone (fisher?) wading in the water, among the dead dolphins...(not to mention the villagers spiriting away chunks of free meat). The dedication (to science and stomach) is great but let's say maybe.... just maybe... it was a marine organism that had killed SIX HUNDRED! Dolphins... would you really want to be in the water/touch them without some form of protection?

"We believe that the dead dolphins are the immigrants from Southern Africa. They are not Zanzibar dolphins, so Zanzibaris, and specifically the tourism department, should not worry, we still have our dolphins" [and aren't we glad to hear that nature has finally! socked it to Southern Africa? NATURE doesn't sleep!].

"The … Zanzibar-based institute of marine sciences said at least 300 of the dolphins washed ashore had migrated from the Indian Ocean" ... straight onto its shores, in a rousing chorus of so long and thanks for all the fish.

Yummy Yum Yum!

Can't wait for november when casino royale comes out in theatres... Looks very promising (more of the same old same old that I love). Yes I was upset when they didn't retain Pierce as 007, but truth be told, he was getting quite soft around the middle, and he could never fill out a (swim)suit quite like Daniel does.

Cool breeze: Here's another racist post

(White?) African Blogger Conference in a Week
Sour grapes

That's why we love Joberg!

I always wonder how fact-based these warnings are, or whether they're simply another way to keep women terrorized... the old 'backseat killer/ankle-slashing gang' urban legend with a South African twist (tracker network, saps, 4x4 mercedes). Whatever the case though, full-scale vigilance never hurt anyone?

Please take this message serious, this come from Tracker Network, who works directly with the SAPS...

Take note this is what happened. At a Petrol station week ago, they tried something similar to a lady driving a 4 x4 Mercedes Benz but the cops were on the ball. Please ladies be very careful try not to drive in the evenings. A friend stopped at a petrol station to get petrol. Once she
filled her petrol tank after paying at the pump and started to leave, the attendant inside came over to speak to her. He told her that something happened with her card and that she needed to come inside to pay. The lady was confused because the transaction showed complete and approved. She told him that, and was getting ready to leave but the attendant once again urged her to come in to pay or else.

She proceeded to go inside and started arguing with the attendant about his threat. He told her to calm down and listen carefully: He told her that while she was standing outside her car getting petrol, a guy slipped into the backseat of her car on the other side and he had called the police. She immediately became scared and looked out there in time to see her car door open and the guy slip out. The report is that the new gang initiation thing is to bring back a woman's body part.

One way they are doing this is crawling under girls/women's cars while they're getting petrol or at grocery stores in the nighttime. Then they are cutting the lady's ankles to disable them in order to kidnap them, kill and dismember them. The other way is slipping into unattended cars and kidnapping the women to kill and dismember them. Please pass this on to other women, young and old alike. BE extra careful going to and from your car at night. If possible, do not go
alone! This is real!! The message:

1. ALWAYS lock your car doors, even if you're gone for just a second.

2. Check underneath your car when approaching it for re-entry, and check in the back before getting in.

3. Always be aware of your surroundings and other individuals in your general vicinity, particularly at night!

Send this to as many women as possible!!!!

"He's just not that fanatical about you"

This man (and his writers) is something special :-)

Relationship advice from Msr. Colbert:



And some insight into maintaining the status quo... in any democratic country:

Here's another racist post

This post has been inspired by the current discussion on AB&H's blog about the bloggers' conference in Grahamstown.

I am not attacking the work you're doing... Vincent baby... love your efforts, think they're important for the continent 'cause... we wouldn't be having this discussion if you hadn't organized the conference now, would we? So you get an A+ (with stars and glitter) on that front. I just take exception to your use of the word "racist" in this context.

I don't believe that the word racist can be applied sensibly to an African. Please note I’m only talking of the African context. And I’ll be bold enough to say, the 'real Africa' not South Africa where everything is turned on its head... a great thing on most days... but can be very oppressive on the balance. The African context, if I may further explain, is largely one where 'white' people have all the means, and 'black' people are constantly made to feel inferior as they run to 'catch up'.

I feel Africans can't be described as racist, not because we shall forever remain victims, or because we're particularly virtuous, but because on any given day, ceteris paribus, we would not discriminate against someone on the basis of color in the same manner that non-Africans ( insert your favorite definition here) on this continent do. We may be evil, cruel, despotic, corrupt, tribalistic, etc... But racist we are not. So 'thanks but no thanks', I refuse to accept that label. For me, any behavior we exhibit that may even be loosely interpreted as racism is simply a reaction to, or a way of pre-empting racist attacks.

I know it is South African-speak, but you might need to be aware of continental discourse (e.g. the AID/donor factory/industry, neo-colonialism) before you apply the "racist" label to a discussion. There is so much brainwashing here... what with the most progressive constitution on earth, Nelson Mandela’s reconciliation efforts and second-only-to-Jesus status, 'African identity' now being extended to 'the rainbow' so that the true owners of that identity are now reduced to a color prefix before 'African'.

Before you jump down my throat, African identity has been discussed ad nauseum, conferences held, papers written (just google African identity), with no lasting conclusion reached. Indeed one can never be reached, so feel free to insert your own definition as I have mine.

God forbid you put anything in terms of white or black around here; everyone in the room (as long as they're South African) blows the whistle, reaches into their pocket and pulls out the race card, kicking you off the field of discussion and exploration. Let me cut you off before you say "if you don't like it, just leave"... I will. Soon as I get what I came for.

Before you remark that around here 'no good deed goes unpunished', I’d suggest that if the conference focuses on Southern Africa, say so! I know 'African citizen' has a much nicer ring to it than 'southern African citizen'... but there needs to be truth in advertising (may help the old cred you know), and you'll head off criticism that you're appropriating the noun 'Africa' for your own purposes, or that your efforts fall into the "let's help 'Africa' help herself" category.

I hear you on the credibility of blogs as a news source, but don't see any such concern in the rest of the world (and I can't wait to have my knowledge updated...). In case you missed the memo, blogging is about freedom of expression, unfettered rants and unpopular opinions... unless of course, I missed the memo, which is entirely possible.

All the best at the conference.

Largest cojones

Yep. He remains at the top of the pile (followed by Tiger, then by [fictional] Jack Bauer) in my hierarchy of manly men: Monsieur Zidane, for demonstrating the true role/purpose of a man.

For those of you who feel that "women are invading men's space by earning more than their man does" (and other such baseless insecurities), please note that the real purpose of a man is protection of the family honor. Even the most phenomenal woman cannot do this. This is a role reserved/to be played/fulfilled solely by the man. Mr. Zidane demonstrated this (and my knees shall forever melt when watching this clip - and no, it has nothing to do with the violence - where he says [around minute 1:22] "je suis un homme avant tout" i am a man above all - my interpretation of the language - and dare i say, knee-meltingly, elegantly described here) in no uncertain terms .

Then the Italian dog now has the temerity to finally fess up to what he done did! Listen, Mat-whatever, we knew it all along. Arguing that "loads of players say worse" just goes to show what an imbecile you are, and what an awesome and honorable man Zidane is.

Should my eggs ever disregard daily instructions to "accept only X", I'll name him Zinedine in honor of a man who showed us that chivalry (and manliness) lives!

I love this city!

Maputo continues to live up to my romanticized image of it... Like every African city, it has the bourgie and the regular sides. I love the bourgie side of it... look forward to someday exploring the regular side.

What I love most about it? The progress I've seen over the (past 5) years I've made my annual pilgrimage. The current mayor of the city is Michuki-esque in that he made enough money before becoming mayor, so budgetary allocations actually see the light of day. Two things I appreciate so far:


1. Lovers' garden (Jardim dos namorados)


and 2. The Saturday Craft Market (was unpaved and unpretty last year)



Some really great abstract art sold there... after looking at some of it I concluded that the bilas train has never hurt so bad!

Steve Irwin, felled by (surprise!) wildlife

May he rest in peace and may his family find comfort in the fact that he passed away while doing what he loved. I must say the surprise for me is that he lived to the ripe old age of 44 given his high risk livelihood. Those saying they're shocked must mean they're shocked it wasn't a crocodile that dunnit.